


Duets

by BozBozBoz



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Eargasms, F/M, I am very sorry, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, kind of anyway, they made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BozBozBoz/pseuds/BozBozBoz
Summary: A rehearsal of Romeo and Juliet unleashes something between Erik and ChristineBased on a discussion of a sketch by Stamina Overlook and GeickoGarbage - this is entirely their fault :)
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	Duets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StaminaOverlook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaminaOverlook/gifts), [GeickoGarbage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeickoGarbage/gifts).



The first time it happened it was purely accidental.

They were each individually aware of the effect that the other’s voice the potential to have on them, but until that point they had kept their sticky shame to themselves, each of them losing track of the number of times they had to shuffle off after a singing lesson to clean themselves off, or retreat to their rooms and the company of their own greedy fingers, desperately chasing the release they had been so diligently trying to deny themselves in front of each other.

It was not until the opera decided to stage a production of Romeo and Juliet and Christine found herself cast in the lead role that the issue came to a sudden head. 

She had been rehearsing the final duet for weeks, but there was something in the piece still lacking - their death, while bittersweet, felt somehow flat and empty, her voice lacking the power and commitment she felt it needed. Try as she might she could not pinpoint where the problem lay, and she finally resolved to approach the issue with her maestro.

She had scoffed when he told her that the reason for her struggles was not vocal technique - she simply did not understand the  _ feeling  _ of the piece. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she cried, ‘Of course I understand the feeling. It is Romeo and Juliet!  _ Everybody _ knows Romeo and Juliet! It is only that I am not yet used to playing the lead alongside another singer. I just need to practise more.’

He had grumbled something under his breath, before at last relenting and agreeing to sing it with her. She had felt a small moment of exultant triumph. After that unfortunate night when they had sung Othello together and she had been seized by the urge to snatch his mask, he had steadfastly refused to sing with her. She hoped this was a sign that the breech was at last beginning to heal.

Her triumph, however, was short lived. From the first moment he parted his lips and sang Christine knew she was in trouble.. 

His  _ voice _ , singing in such deep and tortured tones - ‘ _ O my arms, give her your last embrace! My lips, give her your last kiss! _ ’ He was barely through the first two stanzas and already the heat was pooling unbearably between her legs. As he sang on each word only continued to stoke the fire, and she squirmed, pressing her legs together to find relief while she whetted her lips to sing her opening line.

‘ _ Where am I _ ?’

If she had not been so focussed on controlling her own already boiling desire, she might have noticed her tutor flinch and seen his back stiffen at the sound of her voice. Truth be told the mere prospect of their two voices intermingling as one had been enough to send the blood rushing to his groin, and now at the sound of her clear, bell-like tones it throbbed incessantly. Never had the words ‘ _ O, my head reels! Is this a dream? _ ’ been sung with more truth or fervour. He pressed on, gritting his teeth against the rising ache and willing his hands to continue to play. The press of his foot on the pedal and the resulting shift of the fabric of his trouser leg caused a shudder to run up his spine, resulting in him almost missing his entry after her (most unfairly seductive, he thought) sigh of ‘ _ Romeo _ !’ so that his response of ‘ _ Lord God Almighty! _ ’ came out as more of a lustful groan than the controlled expression of surprise that it was intended to be. 

It was an equally lustful and frenzied Juliet who replied ‘ _ God! What voice is that whose sweetness enchants me?’  _ \- the line echoing Christine’s own turmoil as her heart pounded in her chest and ache between her legs heightened in urgency.

He was not exactly sure when he stopped playing, but it must have been around the following stanza, because as he sang with thundering voice ‘ _ It is I! It is your husband’,  _ Christine had actually  _ moaned  _ and after that, he lost all sense of both time and propriety. His eyes snapped up to hers, and were met with pupils so blown wide with desire that he felt his cock jump forcefully against the fastening of his trousers, and he was forced to stand to try and relieve the pressure.

Her breath was coming so hard and fast that she half expected him to berate her for her technique as she braced herself against the piano lid, face flushed and legs trembling, her core pulling and tightening like a bowstring, but instead he fixed her with those strange, flashing yellow eyes and continued to sing, pulling her closer with his hypnotic voice until they were standing mere inches apart belting into each others faces and it was all that Christine could do to as she sang out ‘ _ O anguish! O torture!’  _ to prevent herself from grabbing at the lapels of his jacket and grinding herself against the hardness outlined against his thigh.

Erik’s pulse bounded as Juliet’s happy dagger found it’s final home in her side, and as she sang her final bittersweet notes of love and loss, he felt that inevitable pulsing and tugging at his groin that signalled sweet completion and he knew that he had passed all hope of turning back, just as Christine herself felt that moment of sweet tension and throbbing release. ‘ _ Lord, Lord, forgive us! _ ’ their voices crescendoed in union, a final triumphant harmonised climax before breaking into strangled groans and gasps.

It was a full two weeks before Christine returned to the opera above for anything other than essential rehearsals, and several more beyond that before she was able to bring herself to make an overnight stay with her Mama Valerius, who, indulgent creature that she was, had nothing more to say about the situation than that Christine’s cheeks had taken on a much healthier glow of late.

Lessons became almost impossible to complete. He tried his best to continue the pretence of the stern maestro - he had already become particularly adept at letting muscle memory work for him, his fingers continuing to stroke out the melody on the keys even as her voice coaxed him to ever greater ecstasies below the waist. But now inevitably all it took was a raised eyebrow, a knowing glance at his lap, or a swift flick of her pink little tongue as it moistened her lips, and his resolve would crack, fingers faltering momentarily on the keys. Then her eyes would glow in triumph and she would launch herself at him, all thoughts of rehearsal driven far from their heads. It was quite some time before Christine made any additional progress with her vocal technique again, although everybody noted that she began to bring a new spirit and feeling to her performance...

Eventually, he had purchased a second couch and had it placed alongside the piano, partially because he feared for the integrity of his piano stool should things continue as they were, but also because their frequent and vigorous activity was beginning to give her carpet burns, and he privately worried about the state of his own aging knees. 

It became a favourite game they would play. On occasions, when he knew her to be particularly stressed or nervous before a performance, Erik would sing to her from behind the mirror in her dressing room, his body pressed hard against the cool glass while she whimpered and writhed in her chair before him. Christine no longer had any issue injecting passion into her performance. It was enough to know that her Maestro was watching from his usual spot in box five, and to imagine his reaction to her, his long fingers gripping white knuckled to the back of the upholstered chairs as her voice caressed him in waves. It was often observed that after her most triumphant performances, she seemed to disappear before anyone could find her to congratulate her.

But duets would always be their favourite, and the Angel of Music was extremely strict, demanding regular, and often repeated practise. Between them they tackled pieces from Salome, Semele, Carmen, La Traviata, and many, many more, and Christine was always delighted when her tutor presented her with some new piece to focus on. 

So, it was with some satisfaction that she informed her maestro one evening that the opera had plans to stage a production of Tristan and Isolde that season. There was a particularly long scene in act two which consisted almost entirely of a duet between the two leads, which she absolutely  _ must  _ master.  ‘Indeed my dear,’ her tutor had purred in her ear, as they both eagerly approached the piano. ‘Your stamina and longevity have been somewhat  _ lacking  _ during our previous exercises. It would not do for you to peak too soon during a performance and be unable to continue,’ and with a wicked glint in his eye he flexed his long fingers against the keys, licked his lips, and asked her, ‘Shall we begin?’


End file.
